


There Was Only One Thing Left to Say

by Enterthetadpole, EveningStarcatcher



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), First Dates, First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, No Miracles, there was only one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:34:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26623714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enterthetadpole/pseuds/Enterthetadpole, https://archiveofourown.org/users/EveningStarcatcher/pseuds/EveningStarcatcher
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley decide to spend a day out without miracles. What could possibly go wrong?For the GO-Events POV Pairs event!Based on the prompt "There was only one ____"Crowley POV written by EnterthetadpoleAziraphale POV written by EveningStarcatcher
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35
Collections: GO-Events POV Pairs Works





	1. What Happens When a Demon Rents a Vehicle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to the people below who have helped me get off my bum and write more!
> 
> Star for being a wonderful, generous and patient writing partner  
> Raechem who again saved me with her last minute beta reading   
> Bisasterdi for organizing the event  
> The GO fandom who have been some of the kindest, funniest and most talented folks I have met

Crowley knew that this date needed to be as special as possible. The start of something that had always been there if both he and Aziraphale had just bloody well got on with it. Back in the garden, he knew he was head over scales for the angel. From the bottom of Aziraphale’s perfect bare feet to the top of his windswept heavenly blondish head Crowley might as well have confessed his love right then and there. Even before that silliness with the apple and the Apocalypse that was there until it wasn’t, Crowley was smitten in ways that were made for those ridiculous Hollywood romantic comedies. 

So when Aziraphale had suggested they go out to the theater, Crowley of course agreed. Even with the added stipulation that there would be no miracles allowed. That this needed to be a special night with very little chance on the higher-ups or looking-downs to spy on their (date?) Was this a date? Oh my, did Crowley hope it was! 

It was only after Crowley had agreed to the no miracles rule and had been grinning ear to ear after leaving the bookshop that he internally panicked. It wasn’t as if Crowley needed miracles to survive the day to day grind. It was more about the familiarity of waving a hand or snapping a finger to get things done in a hurry. However, if his angel wanted a no miracle _please please be a date_ then Crowley would do just what his angel wanted. 

The Bentley decided that this would be a perfect time to announce his disagreement at the plan. Its engine no longer turned over even with Crowley begging on literal hands and knees for it to just bloody start. Crowley was a demon of his word and didn’t miracle his beloved Bentley back into proper health, and instead called a classic car mechanic that he was very certain ripped him off. 

Thankfully, that was something to deal with at a future time. A future that would (hopefully) be filled with wonderful memories of a lovely night out with his angel. The need for transportation was clear, so a couple of quick phone calls had Crowley finding a last-minute automobile rental shop just down the road.

“Something roomy and comfortable,” Crowley said as he headed to the rental place by cab. “With a really good sound system, if possible.”

The gentleman at the rental place hit the mark on none of Crowley’s specifications. The dark red motorcycle sat almost apologetically in the vacant lot and Crowley cursed so long and loudly that his face was just about the same shade of crimson. 

“You said it was for a sort of hopefully a date,” the man said, matter of factly. “Nothing can be more romantic than a motorcycle. Plus I’ll add in an extra free day for your troubles.”

Then he smiled with way too many teeth showing. A bit like a shark who smelled blood in that water. What Crowley would give to wipe that grin off that face with a miracle...or in this case a curse. 

“What happened to your car?” Aziraphale asked, flabbergasted at the Bentley's absence.

“Long story,” Crowley answered after pulling off his helmet with a comical popping sound. “But no worries, right?” He patted the back of the seat with the palm of his hand. “Hop on, angel. The theater awaits!”

"But there's only one seat," Aziraphale scoffed, and for extra emphasis, he pointed. As if Crowley needed some sort of visual reminder. 

"Well, yeah.." Crowley said back, somewhat amused. "You just sit in that back while I - "

"Angels," Aziraphale bristled, "do not ride - what do humans call it - bitch seat!"

_Angels do not ride bitch seat!_

Well, there was a phrase that Crowley would need to get embroidered on a leather jacket and wear until the actual end of time.

"You'll be perfectly safe," Crowley replied. "I mean, you've seen how well I drive the Bentley, right?"

Aziraphale gaped at him as if he had gone completely round the twist. Which in many ways was fair.

“What? It’s fine! I’m licensed for riding motorbikes. Well, at least I think that I’m licensed for riding motorbikes. It’s been a while since I’ve been on a motorbike but…”

Crowley paused at the look on Aziraphale’s face. A look that told him that Hell would not only need to freeze over but cut into individual pieces and thrown into a giant pina colada before he would ever get on anything without adequate seat belts. Or a roof. 

“Angel…” Crowley began but Aziraphale raised up his hand in the classic _stop talking before I do something we’ll both regret gesture_. Then much to Crowley's shock, the angel cleared his throat, adjusted his coat, and walked with purpose to the back of the motorcycle. 

“I’ve been looking forward to this play and our date so…I’ll make an allowance for this situation. Besides, the theater isn’t too far away, so…”

Aziraphale grabbed the spare helmet that hung on the side of the bike. This one was white with a golden trim that matched his clothing a bit too well for it to be a coincidence. Then with another clearing of his throat Aziraphale swung his left leg over to straddle the back of the bike. Crowley may have not swallowed a giggle at the squeak Aziraphale made at the realization that his feet dangled a bit in the air. Luckily the kickstand was engaged to stop both the rental and the angel from toppling over sideways. 

“Well,” Aziraphale muttered. “Let’s be off then?”

Somewhere in the parts of Crowley’s brain that was not enjoying seeing the love of his eternal life straddling a motorcycle seemed to be screaming at him to stop bloody staring, get on and by the Devil be _cool_. As chill as that same Hell frozen over pina colada. 

Instead, his leg gave out halfway as he swiveled onto the seat in front of Aziraphale, and he crashed to the ground. His arse in the air and dignity nowhere to be found. It probably ran off to find a more worthy owner, which again was fair. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale shouted, and for the toleration of Satan, this was not how Crowley had thought that this date would begin. Even in his most outlandish nightmares, and he had quite a few of those. Usually connected with being in snake form in some very unwise places like rocking chair stores and tap dancing recitals. 

“M’ fine,” Crowley mumbled as he wiggled into a sitting position and looked up at Aziraphale. The setting sun was just behind him and it created a golden glow around the angel’s outline that Crowley’s mouth fell. Just who was this gorgeous bundle of softness and light and everything wondrous was. Who the hell needed Heaven when Crowley had so much more?

Aziraphale hummed in concern as he reached out a hand to help Crowley up, and Crowley grunted a thank you as he hoped that his cheeks didn’t look too pink. If so, he could always blame it on road rash. 

“Right...let’s try that again,” Crowley grumbled, and the second time was the charm as he planted his left and right feet on either side of the motorcycle. The sensation of Aziraphale’s hands gripped his waist as he squeezed hard to make sure that he didn’t fall off. 

Crowley swayed at the touch. It was like dancing in clouds whenever Aziraphale touched him, but this was so much more. Not just a small tap on the shoulder or brush on the small of his back to get his attention. This was deliberate clinging to Crowley's waist and if Crowley could sing, he would in a heartbeat. 

Perhaps he would anyway because who cared what anybody but Aziraphale thought. It took a huge amount of effort to maintain his focus just enough to get them moving down the road. Aziraphale made odd noises here and there as they went. His fingers dug in tighter as Crowley made turns and stops and Crowley suddenly had the need to give the gentleman at that rental car place the biggest hug in the world. 

About ten minutes later Crowley slowed down at Aziraphale's shout that the theater was just up the next block. The large building made the other small stores look almost like toy miniatures in comparison. Once Crowley parked, it was Aziraphale's turn to wobble a bit as he climbed off the bike. His blue eyes glared at the vehicle as if it had personally offended him. 

"Ready to head in, then?" Crowley asked. His hair was just as tangled as the angel's, due to the helmets.

"Yes, I believe so," Aziraphale answered. "And let us never speak about me riding a motorcycle ever again."

The play had been nice for the parts that Crowley had been able to actually see and enjoy ; even though he was a bit stiff from all the positions that he had to wiggle his way into, and being so close to Aziraphale was always delightful. 

It only took a few moments in the alley way to get himself sorted, with Aziraphale being a very fidgety lookout as Crowley transformed into his human shape once again. In moments the demon was sauntering out of the alleyway, hands in pockets.

“Dinner?” Crowley asked as casually as he could (under the circumstances, of course). 

“I am not riding on that again.” Aziraphale gestured toward the parking area.

“Angel, it’s safe!”

“No.”

“Then how are we supposed to get there?” Crowley groaned.

“I absolutely insist on walking. It’s not far from here and a walk sounds nice, don’t you think?” Aziraphale mused. 

Then Crowley’s heart (and yes, he did occasionally remember he had one) melted as Aziraphale batted those honey colored eyelashes at him. Who needed a bloody sword to wield when the angel could slay a demon with the upper part of his face alone?

“Yeah, sure, fine. Whatever you say.”

Crowley would not (at least for a moment) be a complete pushover. Granted, everyone in the universe knew better. Even those blasted ducks at the park. Aziraphale smiled and slipped his hand into Crowley’s arm and it took all of the power that Crowley possessed not to turn into a puddle of happiness on the spot. It helped that the autumn weather was cool enough to keep his bones in a solid state, and they walked together to the Ritz. 

Crowley pulled out Aziraphale’s chair for him, and was rewarded with a smile.

"Thank you, my dear." Aziraphale said. "I want to thank you, Crowley. For today. I know it was a bit of a strange request, and it didn't quite go according to plan, but I am having such a nice time with you. I always do." 

The demon nodded as Aziraphale fussed with his napkin. He also noticed a tinge of pink in the angel’s cheeks that surely hadn’t been there before. 

"What bit?” Crowley said, with a small hint of a tease in his voice. “The part where you screamed out prayers into my right ear when we were motorcycling all the way to the theater, or the part where you cried on the top of my head at the play? I wouldn't trade that type of fun insanity for anything in the world, angel.”

"I did not scream! I... spoke loudly, over the roar of the engine." Aziraphale tightened his lips, fighting back a smile, his eyes searching Crowley’s face for the truth. "But it was rather nice, wasn't it? Honestly, Crowley, did you enjoy it?"

Crowley smirked as he watched Aziraphale struggle not to smile, but then lost it altogether at Aziraphale’s question about the ride. 

“Hmm? Enjoy it? No! I mean...yes...I did. Being around you is one of my most favorite activities. The ride over to the theater was splendid, as was being your literal arm candy too.”

"Oh. I am very glad to hear that because, well, you see, I know I didn't say it when I proposed this outing, but I was rather hoping that it might be considered a da-"

“Good evening, gentlemen. Are you ready to order?” The waiter interrupted. Crowley flashed the waiter a slightly annoyed look while Aziraphale told the waiter their orders as quickly as he could. 

“Err, I did get a little concerned about the whole no miracle thing. Nearly discorporated myself trying to put on my trousers like humans so. Fairly certain that the next door neighbor's parrot learned a few new curse words from my screaming.” He kept his eyes on his dinner fork as if it was the most fascinating piece of silverware he had ever seen. “But it was totally worth it, angel. Listen...I know that it's been a long road for the two of us...but I want you to know how much I -”

The waiter came back with salads in hand. Crowley could tell that Aziraphale’s smile was getting more tense and fake with each apparent interruption. 

"Yes, thank you," Aziraphale said to the waiter. Then, once the waiter left, his dazzling blue eyes were back on Crowley once more. "It has been a long road, hasn't it? We've been through quite a lot together. You've been by my side far longer than any angel has. I hope you know that I treasure your friendship dearly. In fact, I think that maybe..." 

Crowley leaned in, hanging off every word.

"Well, let's just say,” Aziraphale finished. “ I'm glad you've been at my side."

The weight of the words felt oddly heavy as they fell on Crowley’s shoulders. 

.

“Yes. I am, too.” Crowley replied. “I mean, glad that you have been on my side. _Our_ side.” Crowley pushed himself to lift a hand to put it on top of Aziraphale’s, but then stopped himself. He sighed again. “Aziraphale, listen...I think that I should just come out and just tell you that you-”

“And here are your meals!” The waiter chimed in, and he watched an equal amount of frustration in Aziraphale’s face. It would have been nice to for once get a server at the Ritz that wasn’t so bloody attentive. 

"You were saying?" Aziraphale asked after the waiter had left once more. "There was something you wanted to tell me? Or perhaps I should go first. I was the one to ask you here, after all, so I suppose I should just... well, you see. Perhaps it was selfish of me to ask you here under false pretenses. Oh, please forgive me, Crowley, I never meant to hurt you or lie to you, I was just so afraid of losing you. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you. But still, I should have been honest with you from the start and I understand if you are angry with me, but please just hear me out, my dear. Crowley. You see, I..." 

“I apologize for the delay, gentlemen,” the waiter leaned over the table to refill the wine glasses.

Crowley hissed at him and Aziraphale shot him a look as the waiter jumped in surprise and rushed to the side of the room to attend to another table. 

Crowley took a few deep breaths, then moved suddenly, hand reaching out across the table toward Aziraphale. His arm hit the freshly refilled wine glass closest to him, sending wine splashing everywhere.

“Fu-” 

“Waiter!” Aziraphale interrupted.

  
  


The waiter zipped over with a mop already in hand. 

Crowley sighed and continued. “You never could lose me, angel. Been stuck with me since the dawning of time...we survived France, and the near end of it all...not to mention the bloody 80s. But sorry, I'm prattling on. What did you want to tell me?”

Aziraphale looked up to find Crowley’s head tipped forward, glasses low on his nose so his eyes were unobscured, open and vulnerable and waiting for Aziraphale.

"Right, well, erm, I..." Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand in his, eliciting a small gasp from the demon. "I... that is... you... you mean so very much to me. That is to say... I feel quite strongly. For you....and I was hoping that maybe you might feel.... similarly?"

“Is there anything else you will be needing?” the waiter had appeared once again with his too bright smile and his annoying attentiveness, and that was it! Crowley and Aziraphale snapped at the same time.

“Can't you see that I'm trying to tell this bastard that I'm in love with him?”

“If you don’t mind, I am trying to profess my love!”

Then again in unison:

“Wait, what?”

“What did you say?”

Silence settled over the table. Truth hanging over them, soaking into their bones, their minds, their hearts.

Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s hand softly. “You...love me? I can't..I mean, I had hoped and nearly ruddy well prayed that maybe there was a chance that maybe...angel, I love you too. For so many centuries. Since the start.

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale brought his other hand to clasp Crowley’s between both of his. “My love. I am in love with you. Quite desperately, if I’m being completely honest. And I had hoped that you returned my feelings, after everything you’ve done for me - saving me, the gifts, lunches and dinners out - it seems rather obvious now, but I never wanted to presume. Oh, Crowley, I’m so relieved. I’m so happy. I-“ 

His throat was tight, overcome with emotion, tears prickling at his eyes.

Crowley sniffled and pulled off his glasses, revealing his whole face, which was so full of adoration it was nearly overwhelming. “We should..I dunno? Apologize to the waiter with a big tip and head back to somewhere more private to finish this conversation?”

“Oh, the poor waiter! Yes, my dea-, darling ,” Aziraphale smiled at the word on his tongue, the sound of it in the open air, for all to hear. “I think that sounds just right.”

Crowley slid his glasses back up onto his nose and smiled so softly that Aziraphale’s heart throbbed in his chest. “Think I'll just stick with calling you angel, if it's alright with you?”

"More than alright. I might even insist upon it."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was decided on that the best place to continue talking would be back at the bookshop, so it amused the both of them how very little talking was actually done. Aziraphale hummed against Crowley’s lips as they lay on one of the most comfortable couches. The angel’s fingers tangled softly into the crimson hair of the demon draped on top of him. Crowley groaned as he felt the angel’s tongue run along the seam of his mouth, and then sighed as he parted his lips to a deeper kiss. For centuries both of them had dreamed of what their first kisses would be like. Whether there would be some sort of barrier due to their ethereal natures that would make these types of touches too painful or too dangerous. How equally divine and sinful to be so incredibly wrong. They were meant to be like this even if it took the better part of 6000 years and the near destruction of all that ever was to get here. In a quaint little bookshop that smelled of honey and tea and so many grand adventures. 

Crowley knew that this was where he belonged. His body on the receiving end of what occurred when two unstoppable forces crashed into something as real as what this was. Love was never something he ran away from, but also was never a feeling embraced. Even brighter and more powerful than the stars he created was what the angel and he were together. He moaned into Aziraphale's open mouth and his narrowed chest ached. He was hopelessly and forever in love.

“Would you like to stay the night?” Aziraphale asked.

“Ngk!” Crowley nodded. “I’ll take the couch then?”

“Oh, no, my dear. There’s a perfectly suitable bedroom upstairs. Much more comfortable than the couch.” Aziraphale looked up at him through silver lashes, a soft smile on his face, cheeks flushed pink.

“One bed?”

“Is that a problem?”

"Oh no, angel. It most definitely is not."

  
  



	2. What Happens When an Angel Buys Theatre Tickets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale's POV of the date that goes wrong!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to:  
> Tad for the collaboration on this adorable piece and for being a lovely human  
> LeilaKalomi for the excellent (and incredibly speedy) beta-ing  
> Bisasterdi for organizing the event  
> The GO-Events server and all my wonderful friends there, your love and support are invaluable  
>    
> -Star
> 
> <3

Aziraphale was delighted by the prospect of a day spent together completely miracle-free. Tickled pink, even.

He had been surprised when Crowley accepted his suggestion so quickly. He had made a plan to ask: butter him up with some good wine before asking. He had a list of activities at the ready, things that they would both enjoy, along with a list of excuses and reasons why (starting with _it would be fun_ and ending with _please Crowley, just one day where I can be sure Heaven and Hell won’t be looking in on us.)_

But he hadn’t needed any of it. Crowley, as always, was happy to give Aziraphale what he wanted. And perhaps there had been an eyeroll (it really was difficult to tell what was going on behind the glasses sometimes), but he had agreed nonetheless. 

And Aziraphale had meant it as a date. But he hadn’t said it. And ever since, he had been wondering if Crowley had understood his meaning, but he’d been far too afraid to ask. So he focused on their plans instead. And now it was time.

Aziraphale stepped out of the bookshop to greet Crowley, but stopped short. 

“What happened to your car?” he asked, flabbergasted by the Bentley’s absence.

“Long story, but no worries, right?” Crowley patted the back of the seat with the palm of his hand. “Hop on, angel. The theatre awaits!”

"But there's only one seat!” Aziraphale extended an arm, pointing at the machine as if Crowley hadn’t yet seen it.

Eventually the angel accepted defeat and swung his leg over the seat, perching as carefully as he could, given that his feet didn’t reach the pavement. Crowley took something of a tumble as he tried to slip onto the seat ahead of Aziraphale, but other than that, the ride was uneventful. 

Well, as uneventful as it could be with Crowley weaving his way through the London streets. Aziraphale kept his eyes closed tight for most of it, clinging to Crowley and just trying to stay on the damned machine.

When they arrived at their destination, Aziraphale was unsteady and felt rather dizzy. He slipped his arm into Crowley’s and leaned on him as he wobbled into the theatre.

“It wasn’t that bad, angel,” Crowley teased as they came to stand before the box office. “Tickets for Fell.”

“Please,” Aziraphale added with a shaky smile to the young man who was flipping through the box of envelopes that held the On Call tickets. He wore a white button-up and black vest with a name tag that read _Peter_.

“ _Pleasssse_ ,” Crowley definitely did roll his eyes this time.

“Here you go,” Peter slipped the envelope through the slit in the glass. “One ticket for Mr. Fell.”

“One?” Aziraphale’s eyes grew wide. “No, I am certain that there should be two tickets.” He straightened his shoulders and checked the envelope.

One ticket.

“The reservation was for one ticket.” Peter gave a sympathetic smile.

“S’okay, angel. I’ll just get a ticket now.” Crowley shrugged.

“But then we won’t be able to sit together,” Aziraphale sighed, “which rather defeats the purpose of going to the theatre together.”

“It’ll be fine,” Crowley reassured him with a grin.

“I’m afraid today’s performance is sold out.”

“What?” Aziraphale’s head snapped back to stare at Peter, who was looking like he’d quite like to duck beneath the counter and hide.

“We have no seats available. I’m terribly sorry.” He apologized and waved the next patron over to the window, hoping to avoid a scene.

Crowley wrapped an arm around Aziraphale’s waist and ushered him toward the doors. Once outside, he paused and guided the angel to lean against the brick.

“How could I have… I could have sworn… Crowley, I’m so sorry!” Aziraphale’s eyes were shimmering with tears. He felt so foolish. He had asked Crowley for this favor, for this day without miracles, and he had ruined it! 

“It’s okay, angel,” Crowley pulled him into an embrace.

“It’s not! I’ve ruined everything.” Aziraphale’s voice was muffled against Crowley’s chest, but he knew the demon would understand. He always did.

“You haven’t ruined anything. I have an idea.” Crowley’s voice was laced with mischief and when Aziraphale drew back, he saw the matching smirk.

“No miracles,” he reminded.

“Promise.” Crowley nodded once, then disappeared into the alley. There was silence for just a bit too long and Aziraphale started to get nervous. He had no idea what his demon was up to or why he had disappeared, and now there was no sound at all to give him any sort of clue. 

“Crowley?” He called, taking a hesitant step toward the alley.

“Here,” Crowley’s voice answered, but there was no sign of the demon.

“Where? I don’t see you!” Aziraphale’s eyes darted about the small space, hands wringing at his waist.

“Ssssstop worrying.” 

It was then that Aziraphale spied him. Small, black scales gleaming in the afternoon sun, and perched on a nearby bin.

“Oh, Crowley! But I thought—”

“Doesn’t take a miracle for this. Kinda like changing your clothes. Well, I use a miracle for that, but the way you do it. Human-like.” Crowley’s familiar eyes stared up at him while he spoke.

“So, we’re to see the show together after all, then?” Aziraphale offered a hand, which Crowley slithered into.

“Wouldn’t want to disappoint.” Crowley stared up at the angel for a moment, then slithered up his sleeve, curling around his neck, careful to stay hidden within the collar.

“Comfortable?” Aziraphale asked, swallowing hard. Crowley nodded, the sensation strange and somehow comforting against his skin.

He straightened his waistcoat and strode once more into the theatre, giving an apologetic smile and wave to Peter, who looked hugely relieved. 

Aziraphale had his ticket scanned, accepted his playbill, and thanked the usher who showed him to his seat. It was quite a good seat.

“Will you be able to see from in there?” Aziraphale muttered as he flipped through the playbill.

“I’ll be fine,” Crowley replied softly.

“Promise me you won’t fall asleep.” Aziraphale was fighting down a smile, pretending to be extremely invested in the biography of the lighting designer.

“S’very warm in here. Can’t promise anything,” Crowley teased, wiggling until his head settled on Aziraphale’s bowtie. “Besides. You know I like the funny ones best.”

“I know, dear, but this one is rather appropriate, don’t you think? You’re to thank for its success. Pity it wasn’t playing at the Globe.”

“Could’ve made it.” 

“That would have quite defeated the purpose of today, my dear, and you know it,” Aziraphale scolded fondly.

“Sssssure.”

The lights dimmed and the orchestra tuned and Aziraphale couldn’t focus on anything happening on stage.

The lights flashed and the actors laughed and cried and sang and danced and he was absolutely positive that it had been spectacular, but he had missed it all.

He had been far too focused on the cool rippling of muscle around his throat, the gentle weight of Crowley against him.

They’d never been this close before. Never touched like this. It drove Aziraphale mad because he couldn’t reach out himself. Couldn’t feel the texture of scales beneath his fingertips, couldn’t see Crowley’s reaction to being touched in that way. Instead his hands sat, clasped, in his lap, palms sweating, as he wondered if Crowley could feel his elevated pulse.

Intermission was a welcome reprieve. Crowley slithered down his arm and curled up under the seat while Aziraphale stretched his legs on the way to the concessions booth. Surely a nibble would clear his head.

It did not. 

As soon as the lights went down, Crowley curled around Aziraphale’s leg, slithering up into his lap, up his sleeve and back around his neck, head propped up on Aziraphale’s bowtie.

Aziraphale’s skin had erupted in gooseflesh. His fingers twitched. His muscles tensed. But once Crowley was settled, he too was able to relax a fraction. 

In the second act the lovers were separated and fought to get back to each other. It all felt very familiar. They were reunited with a song and a kiss, and the lights faded.

“Angel, I’m getting wet down here,” Crowley’s voice whispered over the sound of applause.

Aziraphale hadn’t noticed that he’d been crying. “Oh, so sorry, my dear.” He wiped at his face and, without thinking, ran a finger over Crowley’s head too.

His scales were smooth and warm beneath his skin. He shivered. Crowley’s muscles rippled in what might have been a shiver, too. Whether it was good or bad, Aziraphale did not know.

“Apologies again,” Aziraphale whispered as he rose to his feet with the rest of the audience.

He made his way out of the theatre in somewhat of a daze, replaying that moment over and over, wondering if he should have responded differently, trying to decipher Crowley’s reaction, trying to remember what had made him cry in the first place.

He lowered his hand to the bin outside when Crowley began to wind his way down Aziraphale’s arm.

In moments, the demon was sauntering out of the alleyway, hands in pockets.

“Dinner?”

“I am not riding on that again.” Aziraphale gestured toward the parking area.

“Angel, it’s safe!”

“No.”

“Then how are we supposed to get there?” Crowley groaned.

“I absolutely insist on walking. It’s not far from here, and a walk sounds nice, don’t you think?” Aziraphale gazed up at him through his eyelashes. He knew it was a bit unfair, he knew Crowley couldn’t say no to that look, but he couldn’t even begin to explain how much he did _not_ want to ride on that motorcycle again. 

“Yeah, sure, fine. Whatever you say.”

His tense posture seemed to relax just a bit when Aziraphale slipped his hand into Crowley’s arm. So they walked to dinner. And it was lovely. It was a clear day. A crisp autumn breeze drifted over them, and the color shifted from the bright, sunny yellow of summer to the comforting, hazy gold of autumn.

They walked arm in arm and mostly silent, simply enjoying the company and the weather. Soon it would be time for cozy fires and cozier jumpers. Perhaps Crowley would even be amenable to cuddling on the couch. Or perhaps Aziraphale was getting ahead of himself.

When they arrived at the Ritz, it was almost a miracl—no, definitely _not_ a miracle, but their reservation was on the books and they were led to their usual table without incident.

Crowley pulled out Aziraphale’s chair for him, a tiny smile on his lips.

"Thank you my dear." Aziraphale sat, then paused. He searched for the right words to explain, to make Crowley understand. "I want to thank you, Crowley. For today. I know it was a bit of a strange request, and it didn't quite go according to plan, but I am having such a nice time with you. I always do." His eyes were focused on the napkin in his lap as he fought down the warmth in his cheeks.

Crowley had taken his seat across the table and Aziraphale noticed a slight reddening in his cheeks as well. "What bit? The part where you screamed out prayers into my right ear when we were motorcycling all the way to the theatre, or the part where you cried on the top of my head at the play? I wouldn't trade that type of fun insanity for anything in the world, angel.”

"I did not scream! I...spoke loudly, over the roar of the engine." Aziraphale tightened his lips, fighting back a smile, his eyes searching Crowley’s face for the truth. "But it was rather nice, wasn't it? Honestly, Crowley, did you enjoy it?"

Crowley, who had his wine glass raised to his lips, choked and sputtered. “Hmm? Enjoy it? No! I mean...yes...I did. Being around you is one of my most favorite activities. The ride over to the theatre was splendid, as was being your literal arm candy too.”

"Oh. I am very glad to hear that because, well, you see, I know I didn't say it when I proposed this outing, but I was rather hoping that it might be considered a da—"

“Good evening, gentlemen. Are you ready to order?” The waiter interrupted. Aziraphale barely looked at him or the menu, rattling off his order and Crowley’s, and flashing a quick smile as the waiter left the table. 

Crowley had been glaring at the poor man the whole time. He took a breath now, softness returning to his features. “Err, I did get a little concerned about the whole no miracle thing. Nearly discorporated myself trying to put on my trousers like humans so. Fairly certain that the next-door neighbor's parrot learned a few new curse words from my screaming.” Crowley’s long fingers fidgeted with his silverware. “But it was totally worth it, angel. Listen...I know that it's been a long road for the two of us...but I want you to know how much I—”

The waiter had returned, placing their salads before them with a smile and a flourish. 

Aziraphale flashed a forced smile to the waiter in return with a "Yes, thank you," and he was gone. Aziraphale lifted his fork and poked at his salad, not really seeing it, his mind drifting over 6000 years. "It has been a long road, hasn't it? We've been through quite a lot together. You've been by my side far longer than any angel has. I hope you know that I treasure your friendship dearly. In fact, I think that maybe..." he took a breath, trying to force the words out, willing them into the world, but what came out was "well, let's just say, I'm glad you've been at my side."

He deflated, ashamed and frustrated with himself for being such a coward. Crowley, whose eyes had been growing wider as Aziraphale spoke, let out a sigh. Aziraphale wished he knew why.

“Yes. I am too.” Crowley said, looking very thoughtful. “I mean, glad that you have been on my side. _Our_ side.” His hand moved to the table, drifting closer to Aziraphale’s, but stopped short. He sighed again. “Aziraphale, listen...I think that I should just come out and just tell you that you—”

“And here are your meals!” The waiter returned once again. Crowley’s hand balled into a fist and Aziraphale felt the same frustration as well. He was usually so grateful for such quick and attentive service, but he wished now they were in a more private setting.

"You were saying?" Aziraphale asked after the waiter had disappeared yet again, gaze focused on his meal, unable to meet Crowley’s. "There was something you wanted to tell me? Or perhaps I should go first. I was the one to ask you here, after all, so I suppose I should just...well, you see.” He began to panic. “Perhaps it was selfish of me to ask you here under false pretenses. Oh, please forgive me, Crowley, I never meant to hurt you or lie to you, I was just so afraid of losing you. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you. But still, I should have been honest with you from the start and I understand if you’re angry with me, but please just hear me out, my dear. Crowley. You see, I..." 

“I apologize for the delay, gentlemen,” the waiter leaned over the table to refill the wine glasses.

Crowley hissed at him and Aziraphale shot him a look as the waiter jumped in surprise and rushed to the side of the room to attend to another table. 

Aziraphale watched as Crowley took a few deep breaths, then moved suddenly, hand reaching out across the table toward Aziraphale. His arm hit the freshly refilled wine glass closest to him, sending crimson liquid all over the table.

“Fu—” 

“Waiter!” Aziraphale interrupted.

The waiter rushed over, rag in hand, and began to mop up the mess.

Crowley sighed and continued. “You never could lose me, angel. Been stuck with me since the dawning of time...we survived France, and the near end of it all...not to mention the bloody 80s. But sorry, I'm prattling on. What did you want to tell me?”

Aziraphale looked up to find Crowley’s head tipped forward, glasses low on his nose so his eyes were unobscured, open and vulnerable and waiting for Aziraphale.

"Right, well, erm, I..." Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand in his, eliciting a small gasp from the demon. "I... that is... you... you mean so very much to me. That is to say...I feel quite strongly. For you...and I was hoping that maybe you might feel...similarly?"

“Is there anything else you will be needing?” the waiter had appeared once again with his too bright smile and his annoying attentiveness, and that was it! Crowley and Aziraphale snapped at the same time.

“Can't you see that I'm trying to tell this bastard that I'm in love with him?”

“If you don’t mind, I am trying to profess my love!”

Then again in unison:

“Wait, what?”

“What did you say?”

Silence settled over the table. Truth hanging over them, soaking into their bones, their minds, their hearts.

Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s hand softly. “You...love me? I can't...I mean, I had hoped and nearly ruddy well prayed that maybe there was a chance that maybe...angel, I love you too. For so many centuries. Since the start.”

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale brought his other hand to clasp Crowley’s between both of his. “My love. I am in love with you. Quite desperately, if I’m being completely honest. And I had hoped that you returned my feelings, after everything you’ve done for me—saving me, the gifts, lunches and dinners out—it seems rather obvious now, but I never wanted to presume. Oh, Crowley, I’m so relieved. I’m so happy. I—” 

His throat was tight, overcome with emotion, and tears prickled at his eyes.

Crowley sniffled and pulled off his glasses, revealing his whole face, which was so full of adoration it was nearly overwhelming. “We should...I dunno? Apologize to the waiter with a big tip and head back to somewhere more private to finish this conversation?”

“Oh, the poor waiter! Yes, my dea—darling,” Aziraphale smiled at the word on his tongue, the sound of it in the open air, for all to hear. “I think that sounds just right.”

Crowley slid his glasses back up onto his nose and smiled so softly that Aziraphale’s heart throbbed in his chest. “Think I'll just stick with calling you angel, if it's alright with you?”

"More than alright. I might even insist upon it."

They ended up at the bookshop, at home. They lay on the couch, lips searing against lips, soft and insistent. Aziraphale hummed in joyful pleasure, fingers weaving through auburn hair, reveling in the softness of it, in the soft sounds Crowley made above him. Aziraphale breathed in Crowley’s spiced cologne, the familiar, comforting scent of the being he loved, and he wanted to taste more of him. He ran his tongue over Crowley’s lips and the demon sighed, deepening the kiss.

Aziraphale felt dizzy, yet grounded. Safe under the weight of Crowley’s body on his, safe in his arms, safe in this place that was theirs. He let himself mourn for all the years that they lied and avoided and missed out on this, on being honest, on being close. And then he let it go, grateful for each moment that brought them closer together, brought them to this point. Six thousand years of friendship and unspoken love, and while there were things he would change if he could, he couldn’t find it in himself to regret a moment of it. Not when they were here, finally giving voice to the words they had hidden away for so long, finally reaching out, closing the distance that had always been between them, finally giving into the happiness they had longed for for so long.

“Would you like to stay the night?” Aziraphale asked.

“Ngk!” Crowley nodded. “I’ll take the couch then?”

“Oh, no, my dear. There’s a perfectly suitable bedroom upstairs. Much more comfortable than the couch.” Aziraphale looked up at him through silver lashes, a soft smile on his face, cheeks flushed pink.

“One bed?”

“Is that a problem?”

"Oh no, angel. It most definitely is not."


End file.
